Peering down at the burden she’s enfolding
With timorous tenderness and love—
A mother now, a very young one—
Rejoicing that His will be done,
Almost afraid to breathe, to move,
For fear she may find it’s a dream
she’s holding.

It is no dream, Israeli maiden,
Or rather, it’s a dream come true,
Far older than your great decision,
Older by far than your nine-month visiion.